


Todorovsky

by angelaiswriting (carolinemoore)



Series: Larisa [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lies, Manipulation, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Red Room (Marvel), Sex, Sex with (Future) Enemy, Sex with Age Difference, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Underage Sex, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 18:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19676632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinemoore/pseuds/angelaiswriting
Summary: The Red Room, the sterilization, the Mantis Program and Shura: how Larisa's story came to be.





	Todorovsky

**Author's Note:**

> This is unholy :) I'm sorry :)
> 
> [Also on my tumblr: https://angelaiswriting.tumblr.com/post/186093191713/todorovsky-larisa-goncharova-x-aleksandr]

**TODOROVSKY**

The sun was hot on her face and dazzling in the big space of the office. It glimmered on the mirror-wall at her left and it cast delicate plays of light as it reflected through the crystal spheres the doctor had on his desk.

Aleksandr Todorovsky himself, though, was absent. He had sent one of the janitors to call Larisa Efimovna, as busy as the other girls in the ballet room, with the orders to bring her to his office. And while she had been in there for almost half an hour now, according to the clock in front of her on the desk, he had still to show up.

Larisa didn’t mind. She loved the peace and tranquillity of the room, loved its silence. Even more, she loved the soft leather of the armchair she was sitting in, how comfortably it seemed to hug her tired body, how her hands slid along its armrests–how immensely huge it felt around her.

Even more than that, she loved the faint perfume that seemed to linger everywhere in the room, the same one that made every single one of the girls giggle in the dormitories because it belonged to  _ the _ man of the Academy. Worn leather, tobacco, and underneath that, the delicate notes of the soap he used for his hands.

A sly grin stretched her lips as she rubbed her thighs together. The fact that she hadn’t had the time to get out of the black bodysuit and white thigh-high socks, put on above the nude tights she wore underneath for ballet practice as per the Red Room’s rules was of no help, for she could feel the slippery soft touch of the leather underneath her legs.

Just then, the door of the office silently opened–and she became aware of that just because a cool breeze, probably caused by one of the open windows in the corridor, slipped in, caressing the back of her head and making the curtains shiver. Then, the sound of shoes on the fair linoleum of the floor caught her ear and she did her best not to turn around, to slow down the deafening beating of her heart until she was calm again.

She simply stood up, hands clasped behind her back, eyes still trained on the empty office chair in front of her, so close and yet so far, on the other side of the desk. She had a vague idea of the reason why she had been called here, outside of Todorovsky’s office hours, and she was doing her best not to let it influence her too much.

“Larisa Efimovna,” the man smiled, flashing his perfectly white teeth in one of those grins that made every girl’s knees bend and heart flutter. He pointed at her with one lean hand, palm facing upward, and motioned for her to sit. “I’m glad you could come.”

His grey eyes had always successfully managed to momentarily distract her and today was no exception. She swallowed before she remembered what he had ordered her to do and she settled back into the armchair.

“I wasn’t given much of a choice, sir,” she tried to humor, even though all she could hear was the furious  _ thud-thud _ of her heart in her ears.

There was something in this towering man that pushed her on edge: her hands slightly sweated and a dull throbbing never failed to start between her legs. But he was a forbidden dream: he was part of the professional body and no student would ever have a chance at taking that small step forward that went beyond a professional relationship. It didn’t matter how much every girl in the academy dreamed of slipping into his bed: nothing like that had even the slightest chance of happening.

He chuckled. “We’re in the privacy of my office now, Lara. You can call me Aleksandr–or Sasha if you prefer.”

The way he pronounced her name, so softly, with such intimacy, almost made her gasp. It forced blood to rush to her cheeks, sent a shiver down her spine that went straight to the slow dampening she felt between her legs.

“Aleksandr,” she smiled, savoring his name.

She never broke eye contact; she wanted to see any change in his expression at her calling him by his name. His eyes twinkled and he sat back against his own chair, crossing one leg over the other and making his fingertips touch before his chest, elbows resting on the armrests.

“How are your studies going?”

It was an unexpected question, and even more so coming not from a professor but from a doctor. A  _ surgeon _ . It disoriented her for a moment as she stared at him, at the delicate lines of his face, at his blonde hair slicked back, at the light stubble on his cheeks.

Against what her usual behavior had become, she stuttered before she managed to stabilize her voice. “Very well, sir,” she frowned.

“No ‘sir’ in here, Lara,” he reminded her.

His smile eased her out of the nervousness that had washed over her upon realizing her mistake. It wasn’t like her, to forget rules and orders, but Aleksandr was so young compared to the rest of the professional body, so  _ beautiful _ and  _ charming _ that a mistake on her part shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“I apologize, Aleksandr.” And for as hard as she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to call him Sasha, to be that tiny bit more intimate with him. If this was some sort of test, she sure as hell wanted to pass it.

“I heard you defeated the best agent the agency sent here for the monthly training with you, three days ago,” he continued. “And the other students, of course.”

Heat rushed to Lara’s cheeks and she had to force herself not to turn away, but to keep her eyes fixed on his. Not an easy task, not when it came to such a fascinating man. “I did.”

“I also know he threw you down the balcony of the training room before you managed to knock him out.” The tone of Aleksandr’s voice turned serious now and it was at that moment that she turned her head slightly downward and to the left, towards the mirror not to lose sight of him. “Rumor has it, you fell on your back. I didn’t see your name on the admission sheet in the infirmary, though. A fall on your back is never something you should overlook.”

Lara knew, then and there, that he was lying: she might not have gone to the infirmary, but her coordinator had dragged her to the attending physician for a preventive check-up and everything had turned out to be in order–just a bruised back, but no broken bones. She still chose to play his game, though, just to see where it led. “I’m fine, it’s just a bruise.”

“I am the doctor, though, Lara.”  _ God _ , if he said her name like that again, she was sure she would moan out loud–stoic façade be damned. “ _ I _ should be the one determining whether this is just about a bruise or something worse, am I right?”

She shivered, but still tried to hide it. “I apologize, sir.” Her eyes snapped back to his when she bit her tongue just to find him smirking. “Aleksandr,” she corrected herself. “I didn’t think…”

He let her voice fade and didn’t ask for her to finish her sentence. He could see the deep rise and fall of her chest–and of her breasts underneath the black cotton of the tank top of her bodysuit–and that was enough for him. Wrong, of course, probably immoral and definitely unethical, but  _ enough _ . “Go sit on the table,” he ordered, standing up and pointing at the paper-covered table near the wall on the side of the office, right in front of the mirror-wall.

She stood, the movement as mechanical as that of a robot, for the Academy had made sure she got used to obeying such an order. Every girl stood up when the headmaster passed by in the hallways, when the coordinators entered the classroom, and even in the refectory, no one sat before professors, guards and doctors had taken a seat at their table.

But now, when she turned around, she noticed the reason behind Aleksandr’s sly grin. There was no way he wouldn’t see her bare upper body in the mirror when she’d let the shoulder straps of her bodysuit slide down her arms. She had obviously dreamed of such a situation, and even more so with the pretty doctor the Academy had hired a few years ago, but to be faced by this same eventuality made her uncomfortable now.

Her feet still dragged her to the table, though, one trembling step after the other, and she was terribly aware of the man’s gaze fixed on the bruises visible on the exposed skin of her shoulders. They hurt–every movement, every tensing and relaxing of the muscles brought her back to that afternoon when the breath had been knocked out of her lungs by the sudden contact between her back and the hard floor of the training room. And even though not a single sound had left her lips, not even when tears had blurred her vision, it had managed to empty her mind for a good minute before she eventually managed to come back to reality.

She sat on the table, the paper towel crumpling underneath her and her feet dangling above the floor. Her breathing had turned deeper and every breath seemed to burn its way up her lungs, her esophagus, her nose as her whole being tensed in anticipation. To hide the slight tremor in her hands, she had to cage them between her thighs while still doing anything in her power to keep on a stubbornly emotionless façade, even when all her heat had rushed to her cheeks.

Todorovsky stood behind her, on the other side of the table, and his hands came to rest on her shoulders–his cool skin burning its way through her boiling one until she thought she felt his touch in her bones. She could see him in the mirror and he flashed her one of his many gentle smiles as his thumbs hooked underneath the straps of the bodysuit.

His touch made her swallow hard and as his fingers slid along the line of her shoulders, her lips couldn’t but part as she tried not to gasp. The coolness of his skin made goosebumps wash over hers and the shiver that ran down her spine made her wiggle on her spot.

“Does it hurt?”

It took everything she had to maintain eye contact with his reflection. “No, it’s just… cold.”

She shrugged her shoulders slightly just to then freeze up again when his thumbs dragged the straps down her arms. Inch by excruciating inch, more of the skin of her breasts and then of her abdomen got exposed until her bodysuit was pooled around her waist. Nipples hard and beaded, her hands came up to cover herself before she had the time to stop them and she averted her gaze from him, focusing it on the carillon showcased on one of the shelves in the office. To show him how much he affected her wasn’t exactly in her plans.

Aleksandr chuckled, the sound so close to her that she swore she felt the vibrations in his chest against her back as his lips brushed against her earlobe. “Tell me if it hurts.” His voice had dropped and he sounded almost breathless as she tried her best not to indulge in the fantasies she had shared many a time with Nasha.

She felt his long fingers skim down her spine, cool fingertips pressing into her bruised back here and there as she nodded in answer to his subtle command.

Such close proximity on his part made her mind foggy. And while he had visited her many a time already, somehow today felt different. For starters, he had never made her face the mirror-wall for he had never visited her in this office. This was more like his personal space, where he read articles and organized visits and wrote medical reports, but that she knew of, none of the girls had ever been in there.

He was also closer than he had ever been–and probably much closer than it would be deemed appropriate. She could feel his breath behind her right ear, fanning against her skin and hair. The smell of the sandalwood of his cologne seemed to blurry her mind even more, pushing her to slowly let her eyes fall closed.

“Relax, don’t tense your back,” Todorovsky murmured against the shell of her ear and she couldn’t help but obey as her hands loosened their grasp on her breasts and fell down into her lap.

She winced when he pressed down on a particularly throbbing bruise, her muscles tensing up again at the suddenness of that unexpected surge of pain. But his touch was gone before she had the time to complain and the frown that had all of a sudden creased her forehead quickly relaxed as she heavily exhaled from her nose.

Then, just as unexpectedly, his fingertips grazed the sides of her breasts and her eyes shot open as she gasped. Aleksandr Todorovsky was grinning at her in the mirror and there was a glint of mischief in the slightly bluer grey of his eyes.

*

Larisa met up again with Todorovsky– _ Aleksandr _ –a week later and while she should have expected to be called into his private office, it still came as a surprise when she was summoned during one of the spare hours, that Friday.

Sitting in the same armchair she sat in the first time, all she could think of was the smirk Nasha had sent her way as all blood rushed to her cheeks when she stood up from the armchair she had been sitting in, in the library. The hot sensation was still there, even now, boiling under the skin of her face as she did her best to avoid the man’s inquiring gaze.

It was hard to keep herself busy on the rainstorm raging outside, blowing slaps of water on the glass of the windows behind Aleksandr. The occasional lightning illuminated him from behind, turning the shadows on his face in the dimly lit room darker. The thunders that followed made goosebumps wash over the exposed skin of her arms as she tried her best not to go back to a week before.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked, leaning back against his chair, hands resting on the armrests.

His stance looked more powerful and dominating than the one he had shown her the first time. He had pushed his office chair a couple of steps back from the desk and she could see his legs were spread wide–the sight almost made her gasp. He was in civilian clothes and it didn’t help the ever-expanding flush slowly crawling down her neck.

She swallowed, looking at anything but his face. The pole with the country’s flag was standing upside down in the crystal sphere in front of her, the red material twisting in the darkness of the afternoon and the vengeful force of the storm. “I’m fine, thank you,” she managed to say as an unsure half-smile stretched her lips. “How are  _ you _ feeling?”

Natasha’s insinuations kept on flashing back and forth in her mind, bringing her back to eight days before. Lara had told her everything that had happened in Todorovsky’s office–how he had made her face the mirror-wall as she sat there half-naked, how he had touched each and every bruise on the battered skin of her back, how his fingers had flirtatiously grazed the skin of her breasts–and she couldn’t help the growing throbbing between her legs.

If anything, her friend had pushed her into the embrace of bliss a couple of times with her tongue and fingers. And now, faced by her one and only fantasy in flesh and bone, it was hard not to think about how desperately she wanted him to do to her what Natasha had so diligently done.

_ Good soldiers _ , that’s what they were. Always ready and  _ hopeless _ in their will to obey and serve–to  _ bow _ before who had the power. Not that Larisa bowed easily, that had to be recognized and said, and it was something that would never change with time, but she  _ did _ kneel in front of those she deemed worthy.

“I’ve been better.” The earnest exhaustion in Aleksandr’s voice forced her to focus on his face instead of the terrible weather outside the safe nest of the Red Room.

She consciously looked at him for the first time that day–scanned the lines of fatigue marking his beautiful face, the frown wrinkling his forehead. His hair was in disarray, almost as though he had spent the whole day waving his fingers through it. For some foreign and unexpected reason, she found herself clenching her thighs at that mental image.

She cleared her throat, hesitated for a moment before shifting in her seat. “Did you need something, Aleksandr?” Worry crept up her spine: she didn’t know whether she was still allowed to call him that, but a look at his tired smile and her uneasiness dissipated.

“I’ve been told you haven’t been behaving,” he sighed, head lolling back against the backrest of the chair. “Is that true?”

Lara didn’t answer. Instead, she let her gaze wander again in the room until it landed on the music box on the shelf to Aleksandr’s right. It was the same she had noticed as he had been checking the bruises on her back, the one with the prince and princess dancing in the immortal beauty of the open Fabergé egg the music box was.

“It is,” she answered after a while, voice weak and overpowered by the scream of the thunder outside. To admit such truth out loud and to  _ him _ of all people filled her with shame. She had no problem defying the whole Academy, but when it came to Todorovsky… Every girl had problems keeping up with their tantrums when he got involved. He was simply so young and breath-taking, so  _ caring _ in a way, that it was almost like admitting every single one of your sins to your babushka.

“And why is that?” he demanded.

She wished to be the dancing girl in that music box, perfect in that imperfect immobility, minuscule and powerless against the wind blowing and howling outside. She wished to be held like the prince was holding the princess, because she knew that someone would have her back, then. Nasha would have felt uncomfortable with the deep gaze of such a man on her, too–there was no way she would keep her cool, of this Larisa was sure.

But it took her too long to answer, the silence stretching out between her and the young doctor, only intermittently broken by flashes of lightning and thunders. She barely heard him stand up and walk to stand behind her, lost as she was in the attempt to avoid the problem.

“Why is that,  _ Lara _ ?” His voice was a whisper in her ear. It made her shiver and snap back to reality with a barely audible gasp–one Aleksandr Todorovsky  _ did _ hear, though.

“I…” It was suddenly hard to swallow. Her breathing had picked up its pace, her hands were fighting to fidget with each other.

“Answer me.” His lips pressed on the tender skin on her neck, under her ear, and she found herself holding her breath. “Why aren’t you behaving?”

How could she tell him it was his fault? How could she do such a thing without the risk of repercussion? It was one thing to get punished by the coordinator or one of the teachers, but it was a completely different matter when it came to him–after he had seen her, watched her,  _ touched _ her.

“I’ve heard something about the graduation ceremony, sir,” she eventually admitted, her breath trembling when she exhaled: he had moved to her left to sit down into the armchair next to hers. “Something about the… the last trial.” It was not like her to stutter, but it also wasn’t like she was used to such close proximity to such a fascinating man.

His hand came up to rest on her knee, above the light cotton of her skirt, and she felt herself clench around nothing. His fingertips pressed into her skin in a gentle and quick squeeze before they skimmed under the hem of her skirt, gently pushing it a couple of centimeters upward.

He was waiting for her to continue, for her to  _ say it _ , and she couldn’t help the deep rising and falling of her chest as all she could think of was the degenerated fantasy Natasha had helped her develop in the last week. The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin wasn’t helping, either, not when she felt him stare at the side of her face with that piercing, steely gaze of his.

“The sterilization,” she managed to choke out as she involuntarily tensed the muscles in her thighs.

He sighed and before she could understand what he wanted to do, he grabbed her armchair and forced it around until she was staring at him, his armchair still facing forward. “You don’t want it.” It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on in her mind. She wasn’t the first girl showing signs of discomfort and rebellion at the idea and she was definitely not going to be the last, but she was indeed the first to put her education at the Academy in danger.

“No, I…”

“You want kids.”

She nodded.

“This is a very important step, Lara.” His voice was soft but his eyes were hard and she didn’t know who to trust more. His hands came up to rest on her thighs again as he leaned over the armrest of his chair and the thought that this wasn’t exactly professional conduct suddenly flashed before her eyes. She clenched her thighs shut. “I hope you do understand. While it may have a downside, it brings along many advantages.”

“Like what?” She hadn’t meant for the tone of her voice to be so blunt and defying, but it was now too late to take it back.

“No need to worry on missions,” he started, sitting back against his armchair and turning his head to the side to keep staring at her. “No need to worry about unprotected sex, or about an unexpected pregnancy, just to make a couple of examples.”

“This is irreversible, though.”

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, it is.” He didn’t say a word after that and she kept quiet, too, almost too scared to even breathe because she didn’t know what her punishment was going to be, yet. Then, when the raging rainstorm seemed to calm a little, Aleksandr spoke again. “Do you want children?”

It was an easy enough question and yet, the idea of telling him she did, in fact, want children in the future made her bite her tongue. There was no particular reason behind such behavior, no well-known fear. She had never admitted it out loud–no one at the Academy ever had, but it was definitely a fantasy all the students had entertained at least once.

Then, before she could let herself turn into a real coward, she nodded. “Yes.”

He stared at her, head slightly tilted backward, and one of his hands moved back on one of her knees. Under his insistent gaze, she almost felt naked. He had a way to look at her… She didn’t know what it was–his eyes, his face, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, his tousled caramel blonde hair… It made her feel less of a soldier and more of a… girl? A young woman? A person?

“I’m going to do something I shouldn’t do, now,” he said after a while and his gaze swept down her neck, the slight neckline created by the first two buttons of her blouse she left unbuttoned, and then down her chest until he seemed to stop it between her legs, on the dark blue cotton of her skirt. “Because, you see, I like you.” In a heartbeat, his gaze was focused on hers again and both its intensity and his words made her blush.

She didn’t think, not even for a moment, that he might be saying so because she was one of the best students the Red Room had had in its whole history, not when his hand squeezed her knee again and again slipped underneath the hem of her skirt to caress her thigh.

She swallowed, trying to focus on his face and on anything else at the same time. But then, as childish and starved of affection as she was, she found herself whispering: “You do?”

Aleksandr hummed, his fingertips now dangerously close to the throbbing heat between her legs. His thumb brushed the tender skin of her inner thigh before his hand stopped just a breath away from her panties. “You intrigue me,” he seemed to confess, voice lowering and turning deeper as he forced his armchair to turn so that he could be face-to-face with her. “I was deeply disappointed to hear of your misconduct, though,” he continued, moving so close that one of his knees nestled between hers and pressed against the front of her armchair. “I hope you’ll be worth it. Because, you see, I’m risking my whole career for you.”

“Sir, I-”

He hushed her, leaning closer. He could feel her breath on his lips and her clean scent tickled his nostrils. In his defense, it should be said that he never thought about one of the students the way she thought about Lara. She made him feel ten years younger and she had quickly managed to occupy his mind in both waking and sleeping hours. And while he was aware of what the other girls said and thought about him, he wanted to know whether  _ she _ agreed with the general consensus.

“We had settled for Aleksandr, Lara.”

His lips brushed against her cheek when he murmured his answer and all she could do was tense, force her hands to stay in her lap and not stretch out to grab a hold of his shoulders. 

“Aleksandr,” she whispered back, voice trembling against the side of his face as she breathed him in. The burning smell of cigarettes was stronger today and while she usually didn’t like such stench, it got to her head now.

“I will need you to maintain the secret, though. No one in the Academy must know I’m doing this for you.” His thumb swiped over her inner thigh again and he moved back enough to stare into her eyes. “You understand?”

“I do, yes.” She was panting, her thighs tensing, her core clenching as she looked up at him with only one thought in her mind: she wanted him to devour her. “No one will know.” But  _ she _ wanted to, wanted to know what he was set on risking his career for.

“I will need a couple of days to think about this. You think you can hang on until then?”

*

“So, what is it that he wants to do?”

Natasha kept on bugging her, wanting to know what Todorovsky’s plan was, but Larisa still didn’t have an answer to give to her friend. He had kept it a secret and she was still impatiently waiting to know what he had come up with.

She knew very well what she had promised Aleksandr–not to tell anybody–but she and Nasha had always been attached to the hip and there was no way she could–or  _ would _ –keep that secret from her. And even though it could have been a cause of jealousy or bigger bugs in their friendship, she had had to tell her.

“I told you, I don’t know,” she groaned.

They were sitting in a secluded spot in the park of the Academy, two days after Larisa’s unexpected meeting with Aleksandr. The tree behind their back provided them with its cool shadow, a much-needed relief on that unexpectedly-hot day.

“When are you meeting him again, then?”

“I don’t know, but I hope soon.” Lara had her head tilted back, against the coarse bark of the tree, her eyes closed and lips stretched into a wide grin.

Natasha kept quiet for a couple of seconds before she burst out laughing. “God, Lara, you’re  _ smitten _ !”

“Shut it, I’m not!” She was giggling, though, feeling so lightheaded that the soreness in her limbs didn’t seem to be able to truly reach her.

“I’m quite sure he likes you, too.” Nasha didn’t seem willing to let the object of their constant talking go, not yet at least.

“He doesn’t.”

“He does, he even told you so!”

“Polite shop talk, Natasha.”

“What are you talking about?” She felt her friend move and when she opened her eyes, Nasha was sitting right in front of her. “Why would you think that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just…” She sighed, looking up at the sky. “I haven’t exactly been following the orders and they want me back on track,  _ subdued _ . What if he’s offering this way out to have me back as I always were?”

“I say,  _ who cares _ , Lara! This is your great opportunity and if there’s even the slightest chance of you getting out of here in one piece, then take it!”

“You’re thinking about the KGB side program, aren’t you?”

Natasha nodded.

The program didn’t have a name, not that she and the girls in the Red Room were aware of, at least. But its objective was clear and everybody knew it: a further evolution of the Academy, but without the detachment trauma and all the roubles the various agencies had to spend on future agents. She knew everyone compared it to a breeding farm, but Lara was sure that things weren’t that sick. If she only managed to get out of there and find herself a man–maybe even Aleksandr Todorovsky himself–and join the program, then…

“Think about it. You’d get to do what we’re trained to do and other than that, you’ll be able to have children. I’d give anything to have your chance.” Despite the hurt in her words, Natasha was beaming. “Of course, they want you to behave. Just keep up your game, snatch the golden ticket from the hot doctor’s hand and both you and the Academy will have your victory.”

“I want you to-”

“Don’t risk the chance you have. This program is not for girls like us, remember that. If Todorovsky manages to add your name to the list, that’s already something and we both know it’s not going to be easy. Don’t risk adding my name as well. I’ll be out of here in a couple of months anyway, but you have almost one year ahead of you before graduation.”

“We take what we have. Is this the line you’re going to play?”

Nasha grinned and pulled her in for a hug. “We will meet again once you’re out. I’ll come looking for you, yeah?”

*

She was rushed to Aleksandr’s private office on that Friday afternoon. Her trainer had looked annoyed by the fact that the coordinators were snatching Larisa Efimovna from yet another training session, but there was nothing the woman could do without risking going against the Academy’s executives.

The guard left her just outside the office door and it took her a minute to even out her breathing and to gather the wits to knock. The hollow sound of her knuckles on wood seemed to echo all around her and in the brief minute it took Todorovsky to cross the room and open the door, Lara’s heartbeat had already picked up its rhythm, knocking against her temples.

One could say, without the faintest trace of doubt, that Aleksandr Todorovsky stole the breath right out of her lungs, that day, as she stood there, gaping like a fish out of water.

He had always been a sight for sore eyes, there was–and most likely  _ never will be _ –no denying that. But that day, all Lara could think of, was that he was  _ magnificent _ . He looked like the embodiment of any heart-fluttering dream she had ever had and when she noticed his hair combed back, she had to fight against the weakness that seemed to have overcome her legs.

“Lara,” he greeted, voice as charming as ever as he took a step back to let her pass.

She entered the office, head empty and fermenting with thoughts she shouldn’t be having at the same time. For once, she almost felt like she was a real girl and not just a doll turned into an unyielding soldier.

“Shura.” The name was out there before she could stop it, before she could process such a bold way of speaking had even crossed her mind. And when she turned toward him to apologize for such a behavior, she found herself at a loss for words once again.

Aleksandr had been quick at silently closing the door as soon as she had entered and for some reason, such a realization had a shiver to course through her whole body. In front of him in the usual–and old–tank top and shorts of the uniform used for combat training, she had never felt more naked.

The office was even more tidy than usual, if possible. Three books had been neatly stacked in the center of the desk, the chairs had been symmetrically positioned in front of it and the drawn curtains prevented her from seeing the bright light of the afternoon.

“I’ve been thinking about my proposal.” Aleksandr’s seductive voice made the baby hairs on the back of her hair stand up on their ends, for he had moved closer to her while she had been lost in her own thoughts. His hands were on her shoulders before she knew it and his lips brushed her ear shell just a moment later.

She swallowed at his proximity and boy, was it hard. Lara had forgotten how hard and fast her heart could beat in Todorovsky’s presence. “You have?” Mouth dry, all she could hear was the raging drumming of her heart in her temples and his cool breath fanning her right ear.

He hummed, steering her until she was facing the well-disguised door of the small bathroom of his office. “I’m taking you somewhere tonight, so you better get cleaned up and dressed, you don’t want to be late.”

*

It was wrong, the way he felt about her, the way he took her– _ drank her _ –in, the thoughts that overcame him at night. She was young,  _ way _ younger than him, and it was also against the Academy’s rules. There were literally a million and one reasons for why that was bad and despite his good sense, his  _ moral _ sense, he couldn’t help himself.

Aleksandr had spent the whole car ride to Moscow peeking at her from the corner of his eye. With her hair down, her icy eyes framed by dark kajal, she looked older than she really was and that dress… Growing up,  _ blue _ had always been his favorite color, not  _ red _ . And yet, he had somehow chosen that color when he had commissioned that evening dress and his preferences were now shifting towards the hotter color.

She looked… impossible. Impossible to have, impossible to reach, impossible to even be real. The gown was sleek, the bodice form-fitting, the neckline plunging, the tear in the front of the dress showcased a leg made for ballet when she walked. Just the view of her like that had made him grip on the steering wheel with all the strength he had.

And even now, as she mingled with Bakatin’s guests, trying to ignore the way many looked at her, she felt worlds apart. She was the definition of charming: she seemed to always know what to say to everyone, how to act and move, even how to smile and laugh at terrible jokes.

She almost made him forget about the plan he had to carry out, the lies he had to feed her. They made him feel bad, the lies. He looked at her, so hopeful and happy, with that same spark in her eyes as when he had told her about that family side program that didn’t exist, and he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

It was like being the point of contention: on the one hand there was her and the right thing to do, on the other anything that was wrong in this world–the lies he had to tell her to keep her compliant, the way he felt about her, the things he wanted to do to her, the ways he wanted to  _ touch _ and  _ have _ her.

He had become a surgeon to save lives, he reminded himself when Lara briefly turned towards him and blinded him with one of those charming smiles of her. He hadn’t wanted to study medicine at first, he had simply complied to the plans his parents had laid out for him even before he was born, but the prospected profession had eventually grown on him. When he had graduated and the KGB had pretty much enlisted him, six months before he had been acquired by the Academy, he would have never thought he’d end up deceiving his own patients.

Nor falling for one of them.

“So, this party is like a showcase, right?”

It took his brain a minute to process and truly hear her words. He had unconsciously led her towards the balcony and as he thought of an answer, the gurgling of the immense fountain was the only background noise he could focus on. Eventually, not knowing what to say or even  _ if _ he wanted to say anything, he just nodded.

“Am I doing a good job?” she asked, moving to stand before him and handing him a flute of champagne. The thin glass had already been fogged by the cold temperature of the drink.

She was doing a  _ great _ job and the dress, for which he had relied on the tailor, wasn’t but helping her. She proved to have a great  _ body _ if he had to be honest, one the Red Room had managed to mold into a killing machine.

“You’re doing great,” he smiled, swallowing the contents of his glass in one sip–he was going to need more than that if he wanted to survive the night.

Lara’s grin made him hate himself that tad bit more but it only lasted for a second: she leaned forward, pressed a kiss on his cheek, closer to the corner of his mouth than the Academy’s rules would ever allow, and the dark thoughts floating in his mind got swallowed by the hunger consuming him.

*

He had kissed her. He had accompanied her back to the Academy, the evening after the party, and he had kissed her right in front of the staircase that led to the girls’ dormitories.

The memory had been a major distraction, one that had done more harm than good, for it finally got her punished. But even now, strapped to the table with a blindfold covering her eyes and her ears stuffed, all she could think about was Shura.

She had accidentally called him that again, a couple days before, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, not if the kiss that had turned her knees into jelly had to be considered an indicator.

The feeling of his lips on hers was still there. They had been soft and almost hesitant, more gentle than she would have ever thought her first kiss to be. He had had her face in his hands, so big compared to her, and so  _ warm _ that they had made the skin of her whole body tingle as the breath got knocked out of her lungs. It had felt both right and wrong at the same time, for she knew that what they had–or  _ could _ have–was impossible and even worse than that,  _ forbidden _ .

The problem was, he was pleasant–both to look at and to listen to. He was witty and charming, and he must have cared about her or he wouldn’t be risking his career and his  _ life _ to keep her uterus inside her body. She knew she had fallen for him more easily than she should have, but she had never felt so cared for and looked after–never so  _ loved _ if she could have considered it that way.

If before he had been an insistent but  _ fleeting _ thought among the ordered chaos in her mind, he had now turned into the center of her whole being. She found herself thinking about him more often than not–about his sparkling blue-gray eyes, the softness of his hair, the gentle brushing of his stubble, the safety of his arms, the sheer  _ authority _ his whole body radiated.

Even now, bombarded by the almost absolute silence broken by her heartbeat, he was all she could feel. Her blood boiled and thrummed in her veins, deafening her, and the unbearable need to squirm under the restraints keeping her down was probably the hardest part of the punishment, for she was terribly aware of the slow-dampening of her panties, something that had nothing to do with the training she had just got out of.

And the more time passed, the deeper her breathing got, almost  _ scorching _ as she fought to control it, to keep her stoic mask on–she didn’t want the sensory-deprivation room’s technician to develop suspicions about what was going on in her mind.

And in her body.

Caught between the need she felt for Sasha and the awareness that what she felt for him was unethical, she felt stupid. She had been training her whole life not to be conditioned by anybody, and here she was now, melting down in front of a man. She wasn’t going to fight it, though, not when it looked like  _ he _ wanted her, too.

She was the luckiest girl in the whole Academy, or so she and Nasha thought–erroneously. He didn’t show it, of course, not, he would never risk going against the Academy and its executives, but she and her friend knew he only had eyes for her.

For the first time in her life, she felt important. And it was probably childish to feel so just because a man–and an  _ older _ one at that–wanted her, too. She felt important and invincible and for the first time ever since she had come to the Academy, she felt like she  _ belonged _ –among those people, in that dangerous life that awaited her outside the walls of the Red Room, in a world ruled by cruelty and deceit. And she belonged there because she had someone to call her own, someone to  _ protect _ her, someone that wasn’t Natasha.

She was definitely thinking far more ahead than she should have, fantasizing more than she was allowed to–fantasizing more than she  _ should allow herself _ to. But she couldn’t help it, not now that she was immobile, blind and deaf and had nothing better to think about to pass the time until they let her go.

An hour and a half later, when she left the punishment room, Aleksandr was there, leaning against the wall in front of the door. Fuzzy-headed as she was, she thought he was just a figment of her own imagination.

_ He simply couldn’t be there _ .

But the hands that grabbed her biceps to steady her were more than real and she could have never conceived the worried tone of his voice for the simple reason that she had never heard it before.

“Everything alright?”

He was staring at her in the eyes but all she could see was his face a few nights before, when he had kissed her. He still had his faint, ash-blond stubble and his hair was sleeked back–it didn’t matter that he was clean-shaven now and that his hair was tousled after a long day of work.

She wanted him to kiss her again. She  _ craved _ his lips on hers, craved them more than she had ever craved anything before in life–probably more than she’ll ever crave anything in the future. But she didn’t dare ask him that, so she simply nodded her answer even though she wasn’t sure she was still a person, to begin with.

He had to accompany her to the nearest staircase so that she could sit on a step, for she was clearly weaker than she wanted him to think–to  _ see _ .

“We’re going back to my chambers,” he stated, kneeling down in front of her and tilting her head up so that he could look into her glossy eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re alright before I send you back to your dormitory.”

She didn’t oppose herself to the proposition and when she agreed on following him, neither of them knew things were about to go downhill.

*

The skin of his chest was scalding against hers just as her breasts were burning against him. Laying on his back, he had an arm around her as she laid on her side, tracing absent-minded patterns on the skin of his stomach.

Neither of them knew what to say–nor if saying anything was a good idea after what they had done.

The only certainty in the room was, Aleksandr Sergeyevich Todorovsky had never deflowered anybody, not before Lara. The knowledge that it was wrong was slowly creeping up on him but a couple of hours before, when they had ended up giving in to each other, it had felt like the only right thing in the world.

They had somehow ended up kissing– _ again _ –and while his morals should have prevailed, should have stopped him from going further, he had been too weak in front of her and he had given in. She had opened up to him like a four o’clock flower just to then swallow him whole. He had let his light fade into darkness, too, and he, too, had swallowed her whole.

And now, sweaty bodies against each other, both of them were too lost in the memory of what had happened to realize it was now approaching three in the morning.

She had been so young and pure with that body of an angel, with those eyes that seemed to speak any and every language–that seemed to speak to his  _ soul _ . He had kissed every inch of her trembling body and even now, she could still feel the feathery touch of his lips pressing everywhere–her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts, the side of her breasts, her nipples, her stomach, her…

Her face had turned blood-red when he had hidden his face between her legs and she had had to cover her own face in embarrassment, for she didn’t want him to see her like that–so vulnerable and breakable, a crystal flower threatening to shatter. She had already felt good, both by her own hands and by Natasha’s, but  _ that _ … That had reached a whole new level of pleasure, it had shot her through any astral plane to ever exist.

Shura could still taste her on his tongue, too, and even on his lips when he licked them to moisture them a little, his hand tracing soothing circles on the skin of her back. If he’d ever have to describe it, he’d say she tasted like sin–so good and sweet that it was a whole new sin in and of itself. And she had been so hot and wet, so  _ tight _ when he had pushed that one finger inside her that…

His loins tensed at the memory and he couldn’t stop himself from looking down at her. She had her eyes closed and a tired, bright smile stretching her lips, her cheek pressed against his right pec.

She was a sin and the best dream of his life and he wondered how such things could coexist in one single person at the same time.

When he had come up with his deceiving plan, he never would have thought he’d end up with Lara in his bed. Never would have thought he’d one day take her nor that she’d let him take her. He felt both important and invincible, even now that they were resting in each other’s arms.

To think that someone like  _ her _ had let someone like  _ him _ take her virginity away… He wasn’t one to philosophize about virginity and the loss of it: he had never given it much importance, not before today, that is–and not even  _ after _ today. The thing was, every girl in the Red Room Academy was way more superior to him than he’d ever be: they were unreachable, untouchable and even though this should have been the reality of things, he had managed to snatch the very pride of the whole organization.

And he took  _ pride _ in the way he had made her feel, in the times he had made her come–mouth, fingers,  _ dick _ , he had shot her to the Moon and back with all he had to offer and in change, she had done the same. Her vagina had been so tight he would have come as soon as he had pushed in if only he didn’t have some sort of self-control.

She had cried–in  _ pleasure _ , as she moaned his name like a sinful litany in the otherwise absolute calm of his bedroom. Sighs, pants, moans–those four walls had witnessed it all, all the way up to the half-contained whine of pleasure she had let out when they had come together.

“I should go.” Her voice trembled, her breath fanned his cooling skin and it all snapped him out of his reverie. “It’s getting late.”

Aleksandr hummed, slightly moving down the mattress as he turned on his side to look at her. Her eyes were as glossy as they had been when she had exited the sensory-deprivation room, but for a completely different reason now. It made him smile, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone.

“You should,” he agreed, hand leaving her cheek and moving down her side until it stopped behind her bent knee. He pulled her leg over his thigh so that she could hook it around his waist. “I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

Their words spoke one thing, but their actions seemed to disagree. She let him move her leg and he let her get closer to him, so close that his hardening erection pressed against her lower abdomen.

For a moment–a fleeting, insignificant moment–he wished he could let her leave the Academy as she entered, wished he could see that same belly grow with the child she’d one day carry, wished he could see her breasts swell as the pregnancy progressed. But then, half a second later, that thought was gone and he was left lusting over her again.

“This must remain between the two of us,” he warned her, tilting her head slightly up and pressing a kiss against her lips. He swiped the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, brushed it against her teeth until she granted him access. 

She  _ melted _ in the kiss.

*

Their encounters didn’t end that day even though they should have. Lara didn’t even tell Nasha about that first night, not for a couple of days at least, when it became impossible to keep the secret from her best friend.

She had told her to stop. In hindsight, Larisa would agree with her friend and would chastise herself for being so childishly blind, but back then, as she slowly but surely blossomed into a woman, all she could see was him–Aleksandr, Sasha, Shura, and all the loving names she called him.

He called her  _ Larochka _ . She didn’t know why, but that name always managed to make her weak in the knees. She melted inside upon hearing it, her brain stopped working, her heart started to flutter like a caged bird and her insides melted into a pool of lava.

Tonight wasn’t any different.

After that first night two weeks before, he had started to take her to mundane KGB parties. It was nice, to have someone to go with, and it was even better to have someone in whose arms he could end the night–in whose arms he could  _ lose himself _ .

Larisa was more than he could ever ask for and definitely more than he could take, but he never complained, not even many years later, when he’d end up under her torturing care after having been kidnapped in Italy. She had always been his one and only weakness, even before she started to misbehave, before the Academy appointed him with the order of bringing her back to submission, before he started to feed her lies.  _ To fall for her _ .

She stood there, in front of him, covered only by the lacy red panties he had bought her to wear with that second red dress. She was a sight to behold: perfect, unblemished skin, toned muscles, innocent eyes, sinner’s lips stretched into a smirk.

Shura thought of every reason why this was wrong, he tried to make them surface above all the other thoughts–the hunger, the need for her, the pulsing straining in the crotch of his tuxedo pants, the thrumming of his heart in his ears. And the more he thought about it, the more he  _ forced himself _ to think of those reasons, the less he could see them, blurred as they were by the sight he had before his eyes.

It was a dance, one they hadn’t realized they had been dancing until they got to his luxurious hotel room, the one they were going to spend the night locked in. They had been flirting all night, enjoying the party as she tried her best to make a good impression on the executives of the side program, and his hands had been all over her as they danced under the twinkling lights of crystal chandeliers hanging from richly-decorated ceilings–her arms, her bare back, her plump ass.

She had done the same, always stepping closer, always craving contact.

They had both become each other’s drug without them even realizing they were falling so hard and fast until they were left panting in front of the realization. And while they had all the reasons in the world to stop, they turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to them.

They chose each other. Chose the gentle touches and the hungry ones alike, chose the pleasure, chose the prohibition. It was something neither of them could explain–something neither of them  _ wanted _ to explain, not even years later, when the fire got extinguished, not even when Lara would let her guard down and Clint in. But it was here, in the present, ever-pulsing and burning as bright and hot as the sun, scalding through their veins as they devoured each other with their eyes–her, half-naked and him, still dressed, only his shirt left open and unbuttoned.

Her breathing was ragged–ragged before he even touched her, before he even spoke to her. Nipples beaded, fingers twitching at her sides, her eyes were glazed by pleasure and her panties - wet, her clit throbbing in anticipation and at the sight of him.

He was destruction–she knew it then and she knows it now–and at that moment, that was all she craved. He was good and bad destruction at the same time, burning her skin and awakening her, pulverizing her synapses and bringing her brain to life. All she needed was his eyes on her–running over her body the same way his hands soon would, seeing right through her, pointing straight for her soul.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care to be left bare and vulnerable in front of him because she had never felt safer than in his arms, under his gaze, his hands, his lips, the swipes of his tongue as it glided over her flushed skin. She had never felt as strong as she did when he looked at her almost as though she was his entire world, the beginning and the end of his life, God and the devil at the same time.

Fingers hooking under the elastic band of her skimpy panties, she pushed them down her legs, never breaking eye contact. And when he inhaled, the air hissing as it went up his nostrils and got caught in his throat, she shivered, goosebumps washing over her skin in waves as pleasure pooled in her belly, in her lungs, in her brain.

It was unexplainable, the intensity with which she wanted– _ needed _ –him. He was the forbidden, impossible dream come true and it was too much for her brain to process. Every step she took in his direction was a shorter breath, a stronger heartbeat, a foggier mind. And before she could realize it, she was standing in front of him, looking up at him, at his impossible height, at his eyes burning as hot as hers.

“You are my sin,” he murmured, hands coming up to cradle her face as he bent down to peck her lips. “But by God, am I happy to go to hell if it means having you!”

She chuckled against him and when he pulled her closer, so close that her breasts pressed against his chest, the chuckle turned into a raspy gasp bordering a moan.

It took her a second to come back to her wits but when she did, she pushed herself up on her toes and the kiss turned into a clash of lips and teeth and tongues as her fingers tugged on his perfectly-combed hair before sliding down his neck and underneath the cotton of his shirt.

Had she not been kissing him, she would have sighed. He was hot and strong and hard under her touch, broad shoulders making her want to do all kind of bad things to him–making her want to let  _ him _ do all kind of bad things to  _ her _ .

His shirt was gone in a matter of seconds, pooled messily on the ground at his feet, and her hands were everywhere on his arms. Her fingers gripped the muscles, her nails grazed his skin until light, red lines could be seen–the only mark she’d ever allow herself to leave on his body, too scared as she was to leave something more, hickeys and love bites and traces of her mouth and lips and tongue.

She fumbled with the button of his pants, then, and he was forced to help her in her ministrations, pushing both pants and briefs down his legs before she kneeled before him.

He couldn’t stop her–didn’t have the time nor the guts to, not when she was looking up at him with eyes blinded by pleasure and need and  _ hunger _ . Her breasts hung heavy on her chest and he had to do anything in his power to keep himself on his feet, standing, and not crumble down before her and take her in any which way she wanted.

Lara was aware of it, aware of his burning gaze set on her even when she averted hers from his, giving his erection her full attention. She had been scared, the first time–scared to be a bad job, scared to give him a bad impression, scared of coming off as a child in front of her inexperience when it came to men. But he had guided her, told her what to do in the sweetest way possible and she had stared mesmerized at the way his back had arched off of the mattress, his whole body tensed as a bowstring. She had feared he would break, that his spine would snap as she still bobbed her head on his dick, taking him deeper a little more with each passing second.

He hadn’t wanted to come in her mouth and she had stared in wonder at the way his cock had twitched in her hands as she gently stroke him before rope after rope of white semen had painted his stomach and her neck and cleavage alike.

As she gently kissed the tip of his erection now, she found herself hoping to bring him the same pleasure of that first head.

Her breath shivered as she exhaled, fanning over his lower abdomen as one of her hands took a hold of the base of his dick. He felt impossibly huge in her hand and with him there, at her mercy, she felt more powerful than she did gripping a gun.

She tightened her hold slightly as she sank deeper on her heels to lick a stripe up the entire length of his cock. In the brief time that had gone from her first time to tonight, she seemed to have lost all his innocence: the worried questions in her eyes weren’t there anymore, the embarrassment crawling down her neck at being seen naked by a man wasn’t surfacing, and even though her touches were still a little insecure, they seemed to grow bolder and bolder anytime they lost themselves into each other.

“Fuck.” Aleksandr’s voice was hoarse when he groaned, hands shooting down to cradle her head when she wrapped her burning wet mouth around him. His hips bucked forward a little, the tension and excitement making it almost impossible to hold still as she accustomed herself to sucking him off, but he still somehow managed to keep the movement to a minimum.

Lara moaned around him, saliva trickling down his shaft when she bobbed her head up to lick the slit in his head before bobbing back down, taking him a little deeper, doing all she could to relax her mouth and throat in preparation of what was to come.

Left hand still wrapped around his base, slowly and slightly twisting left and right to stimulate him until her mouth could, she let the fingertips of her right hand crawl up his shin, his knee, his inner thigh before she started to tease his balls.

Skin tight, balls pulled up, her touch felt divine as she timidly swiped her fingers over his sensitive, burning skin. The muscles in his abdomen contracted, his lungs seemed to close off as he not-so-gently tugged on her hair and before he knew it, she had sunk down on her dick until her nose was pressed against his pubic bone. The long, loud moan–a strangled, almost alien sound in the otherwise silence of the room–he let out made her skin crawl as her now free left hand moved between her legs.

She was wet and the more sounds he made, the deeper she took him in, doing her best not to choke on his girth, the wetter she felt herself become. It was easy to slip first a finger and then a second one into the warmth of her pussy as her thumb teased her clit and her throat contracted around Aleksandr’s dick.

The combination of pleasures made her head dizzy and her brain foggy. When she looked up at him and found him already staring, eyes glazed over and mouth opened into a silent moan, all she could do was moan around him as she slowly finger-fucked herself. It didn’t matter that her knees hurt nor that she had to force her neck into an uncomfortable position to look up at his face overcome by pleasure because it was all worth it.

That is, until he forced himself out of her mouth before he sank down on his knees in front of her, panting for air as he tried to recompose himself.

She didn’t stop her fingers, though, and for long seconds he stared as she pleasured herself in front of him– _ staring at him _ . The slick, wet sound of her fingers thrusting in and out of her somehow managed to drown out her moans and his gasps but when he forced her on her back on the carpeted floor and she opened up her legs for him, nothing managed to hide her whimper.

He wasn’t stopping her–couldn’t bring himself to, not when she looked ravishing spread out like that, one hand between her legs and the other tugging on a nipple.

Before he could stop himself, his lips latched onto her neck, mouth suckling gently the tender skin right above her pulse point until her neck arched and she moaned low and long into the half-darkness of the room.

His hands, impatient and unable to hold still, pushed her thighs wider apart, spreading her out more as he settled between her legs and his kissed moved down her cleavage until he was sucking harshly on her untouched nipple. She mewled at the sensation and her hand moved up his arm to tug on his hair, pulling his head back enough to make him look at her before he kissed her.

He kissed her long and hard, tugged on her lips, nibbled on her lower lip before he let his tongue glide over hers. And she sighed. She sighed and her legs trembled against his thighs and when she came, breathlessly and silently, he held her down, kissed her harder, pushed his hands under her ass to rut against the hand she still had between her legs.

“Shura.” It came out like a prayer to God, like a call for mercy as her kisses shifted along the line of his jaw and moved to his neck.

“I know.” His voice choked in his throat as he gently removed her fingers from inside her. They were so wet that had he been standing, his knees would have buckled. Instead, he pressed his forehead against her shoulder for a second before he pulled up on his knees and took her slippery fingers to his mouth.

She gasped when he sucked them clean, eyes always fixed on hers as he smirked at the astonished and embarrassed expression washing over her face. Her innocence was still there, then, he thought as he bent down to kitten-lick her swollen clit before positioning himself at her entrance.

Eyes staring into each other’s, he pushed in slowly, never stopping, never faltering, not even when the spasming tightness of her walls made his toes curl and her hands squeeze her tits.

He would have died for her and he would have died happy. To see her like this, to  _ feel _ her like this–so eager to take him in, to  _ swallow _ him–, it was more than his brain could process as he came to a halt inside her, hipbones against hipbones.

He took her in–the way she scrunched up her nose in pleasure, the way her tongue tried to moisten her dry lips, the way her sweaty skin glistened under the low lights of the room. It all made him twitch inside her, forcing him to pull his hips back, almost all the way out, before slowly pushing back in.

They both wanted to savor it, to savor the moment before they both had to go back to the Red Room and pretend like they could act professionally around each other.

The more time passed, though, the less control they had on their bodies and soon her hands were tugging at him and he was rutting into her, pelvic bone deliciously brushing against her clit, making her muscles tense up with poorly-contained pleasure.

It was a wild chase for a climax as both their backs arched and tensed and their moans turned louder and deeper.

He was kissing her everywhere–lips, eyelids, cheeks, neck, tits, shoulders–and she was doing the same as her nails marked the fair skin of his back until they drew blood here and there.

Breaths always shorter, heartbeats louder, it was hard to keep going as his knees pressed into the floor and her neck bent to suck on the skin of his neck–regulations be damned!

When he came deep inside her, forcing his rutting to come to an abrupt stop when his back arched and his moan went silent, it was almost an explosion of static noise. White went off behind his closed eyelids and at the sight of him, so overcome, she followed suit.

*

Larisa got her answer from the KGB’s side program a month before Natasha’s graduation. She was laying on yet another hotel bed next to Aleksandr, catching his breath after he had taken her in the shower, and there was a stupid grin on her lips as she stared at the pristine white ceiling of the bedroom.

With the passing of the weeks, Todorovsky had fallen for his own lies. Part of him  _ did _ remember the day he had forged that admission letter, but it was so deeply buried in his subconscious that he could barely feel its presence.

“I got a letter for you,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment before he stood up. The duffle bag in which he had packed his and Lara’s change of clothes was still on the desk in front of the window that gave on Piter’s Neva, flowing placidly below them.

“A letter for me?”

Larisa had never received letters. No one did at the Academy. There was no one out there waiting for them, missing them, wishing to simply  _ write _ them. Therefore, the news made excitement spark below her skin, pulling her up into a sitting position under the silky blankets of the bed.

Shura came back with a grin on his lips and crawled over to her until he pecked her lips before handing her the envelope and laying down next to her.

“You already opened it?” she asked, noticing how the lid of the envelope had been torn.

He hummed, his right hand absentmindedly caressing up and down her spine, his eyes staring at the goosebumps appearing and disappearing on her skin. “It was addressed to me since I’m your doctor. I didn’t know what it was about until I opened it.”

“What’s it about?”

“You’ll see.” He chuckled at the excitement in her voice and pushed her to take out the letter.

She read it quickly and the more she proceeded, the more sparkly the excitement in her eyes got. “We have taken into consideration the exceptionality of Larisa Efimovna Goncharova’s case and are honored to welcome her into our  _ Mantis Program _ . We will be waiting for her arrival after her graduation next year.” Her voice rose slightly but steadily as she read that excerpt and when she had come to the end of the letter and Bakatin’s signature, she threw the papers in the air and threw her arms around his neck, laughing.

He chuckled back, pulling her closer until she was straddling him.

She bent down to kiss him, hips settling better against him and his hungry erection, before she kissed his cheeks and his eyelids, never silencing her giggling. “Oh, God, Shura!” She was shaking with badly-contained laughter over him and it made him smile as his hands caressed her sides, his hips slowly thrusting against her out of their own accord. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

**Author's Note:**

> Please, consider leaving some feedback: I'm slowly easing back into writing and it'd mean the world to hear what you think of this story :)


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